A Song Of Many Fires
by Genasys
Summary: So, basically my first fanfic. All characters included -on the good side. I've decided not to add Cersei, but that may change later. Main Couples: Jonerys Sansan Gendrya.


Deanerys didn't know what to do with herself. They had been in Dragonstone for well over two weeks now. Tyrian had sent his letter by raven to Winterfell. Lord Snow -or was it just Jon snow?- had replied. He would be arriving soon. The Unsullied were likely laying siege to Casterly Rock at this very moment, the ships docking at Dorne. And Dany was just... Sitting here. Drinking wine and leaning against the balcony, watching her dragons swoop and dive in the skies.  
Graceful. They were so... Graceful. And dangerous and magnificent... And perfectly capable of burning the Red Keep to nothing but ashes. It would be so, so easy. How long would it take her to conquer King's Landing? Less than a day, with Drogon and Viserion and Rheagal. But she would end up killing too many innocents if she did that. Thousands of people, burned to death, because of her. She would be no better than Cersei, blowing up the Scept. Tyrian was right. She would have to be patient, have to trust their allies to do their part, so that the continent didn't think her some foreign invader, come to kidnap their children and tear apart families. Still, she hated being here, while her people were fighting -and _dying_- for her. To be honest, she hated this whole damn castle, with it's tall walls that lacked windows, the constant darkness, and no sun because the clouds refused to dissipate. It was wet, and chilly, and miserable. No wonder her ancestors chose to move to Kings Landing. Who would want to stay here, when that place was so full of sun.  
"Your Grace?" Ah, Tyrion. What did he want now? They must have gone over the plans a hundred times by now. "Yes, Tyrion?" If she had to look at those maps one more time-  
"Jon Snow has arrived." Dany paused, the wineglass hovering in front of her lips. "Has he? Well, bring him here then," she replied, flicking her fingers. She could almost feel Tyrion's frown. "Here? Not the throne room? Your Grace, i'm not sure that is wise-" "Why not? Deanery's quipped. "Because in the throne room I can look down on him?" She sighed. "Well, since I do need him to bend the knee..." She took one last sip of her wine, steeling herself. She had been told of Jon Snow- Varys had spies everywhere, and The North was no exception. An honorable man, he told her. One who had the support of his people. A proud and stubborn people, who had been vying for independence for decades. And who didn't trust the Targaryens, with good reason, Dany could not deny. "Well, then, Bring him to the throne room," she sighed. She set her glass on the small iron table at her side. Perhaps she would be able to finish it later.

Jon:

He didn't know what to expect. A cold, perhaps even mad, person. A spoiled child, come to conquer because of her name and house, sending her spymaster to spread rumors of great beasts that shouldn't exist. It was not... This.  
The throne room was huge, the ceilings towering above their heads. Then throne itself was carved from stone-heavy and immovable. And the woman sprawled so gracefully upon it... Her hair was so light, it reminded him of freshly fallen snow. And her violet eyes gleamed-eerily so, almost the way a Whyte Walker's eyes would. At the base of the steps stood Tyrion Lannister. he looked different than when Jon had last seen him. A deep scar was imbedded in his cheek and forehead. But it wasn't only that- there was a difference in his posture.  
When Jon had last seen him, Tyrion had been... Sad. Cynical and mouthy, but sad. there was a new gleam of pride in his eyes now. He liked whom he was serving. Jon blinked, noticing the pin on his left shoulder. Hand of the Queen. It surprised him, that this Mother of Dragons had been able to see his potential. Tyrion had a sharp mind. It was a good position for him. Missandei- the elegant, dark skinned woman from narth who had led them through the keep- began to speak. "You stand in front of Deanery's Targaryen, Breaker of Chains, khaleesi of the great grass sea, Mother Of Dragons". Jon blinked, glancing at Daavos for a moment, unsure how to reply. Daavos just shrugged. "This is Jon Snow, King in the North. We're not for fancy titles there". She smiled. "So I've heard.


End file.
